Petey Keever almost got named Picasso, because a step-sibling almost got named Van Gogh, because of losing an ear due to an unknown event.
Petey’s 13 in human, an probly a chi-wa-wa. He was rescued from a puppy mill in North Care-uh-LINE-uh when he was about 9 months old.
He was right at the door with his humans to greet me an my assistant, and pranced up for the Wag-an-Sniff. He was neat an shiny, brownish/goldish, white ruff and bib, white sox with polka dots.
He had short liddle legs an flop-over-at-the-tip triangle ears stickin’ out to the sides. Except for some white around his nose, I never wudda thought he was Gettin’ Up There.
“Welcome. Come’on out to the sun porch. I’m Petey Keever. This is my Mom an Dad, Mary an Rick, my ’dopted brother Benny (a middle-size pooch with short curly cream-colored fur that stuck out every which way peeped timidly out from behind a chair); an my ’dopted sister, Coco. We’re all rescues.” (A black cat with short shiny hair glanced up from her sunny spot by the balcony.)
“Hello, Mr. Bonzo,” Benny said. “I just hadda haircut. I’m usually a lot fluffier.”
“A pleasure,” said Coco, licking her paws delicately.
“Delighted to meet you all!” I turned to Petey. “I’m eager to hear your story.”
“Lemme know if I talk too fast. It’s a Liddle Dog Thing.” He hopped onto the couch between his Mom an Dad. “I can’t tell you how fortunate I was that Mom an Dad found me. A bunch of us had been rescued from this awful puppy mill back in oh-nine. It was very traw-MAD-ick.
“When I first joined my Forever Famly, I was pretty timid, an I’d hide. Once, they thought I’d Run Away an was LOST. After hours of searching, they discovered me curled up way inside the couch. Even I don’t know how I wiggled myself into that.
“Mom an Dad usta come down here a lot, an I’d stay in North Carolina with a Sitter. Now we all come down together. We love it.
“Up there I’d run all over the place. Runnin’s kinda my Thing. Then there were the Crows. Dog! were they annoyin’. All that squawkin’ got on my Last Nerve!
“Me an the squirrels had a kinda back an-forth thing goin’. This one time, I was on the deck next to the house barkin’ like crazy, non-stop. Mom an Dad yelled at me, but I kept on barkin’, for, like, two days.
It was makin’ ’em a little (well, a lot) frustrated. Finally I let out this huge BARK, an just planted myself right there on the deck. Suddenly, Mom heard this liddle sound comin’ from the nearby downspout. She checked it out an discovered a squirrel, which had somehow tumbled into the downspout. She got Dad, an he quickly took the downspout apart.
That frazzled little Nut-ball was a wobbly mess: He headed right for the garden, dug up one of his stashed acorns an gobbled it up. Now he’s back runnin’ with his pals. Thank Lassie.”
“Woof! Petey! You saved his LIFE. That is SO Cool Kibbles!” I exclaimed. “So, what’s your life like down here?”
“I protect the household, a job I take Very Seriously. Around here, I’m The Boss. I may be liddle, but I’m not afraid of anything! (Except smoke detectors. An fireworks. An cellphone alerts.)”
“Whaddya do for fun?”
“Runnin’, of course. An long walks. I usta go 6-7 miles easy-peasy but these days, well, you know how it is.”
I nodded. Gettin’ Up There is how it is.
“Mom made me this Crispy Biscuits sling so, when I get pooped out, she can carry me. It’s kinda embarassin’, but whatcha gonna do,” he noted philosophically.
“I’m not that interested in those liddle lizards; or birds. An Mom an Dad say those weird sideways crabs can bite your nose off, so not those, either. My FAV-rite toy is Fishy. It has this pawsome squeak. See!”
He brought it over. I couldn’t even tell he had anything in his mouth till he put it down. It was a teensy orange-an-white fish about the size of a golf ball. For such a liddle stuffy, it did have a Big Squeak. Petey lowered his voice. “Don’t let it get around, but Fishy is ackshully a – cat toy.”
“My lips are sealed,” I replied.
“I like leash walks on the beach but I’m not interested in the ackshull water. Including baths. Fetch is sorta, well … meh. I do, on occasion, get The Zoomies. You know, tearing all over the place with no rhyme or reason. (Coco says cats get the Zoomies, too.)
“Up in North Carolina, there was snow sometimes. When it got up to my tummy, I’d jump like a rabbit! I have a Super Cool Kibbles bomber jacket for when it’s cold. I saw a bear once. (That was enough.) An foxes. They make the weirdest sounds. Sorta like a bark, or a cough. A Boff!”
“Got any special pooch pals?”
“Humm. Well, there’s Stella, downstairs. She’s a Golden Doodle. My nephew Scotty, a German Shepherd, lives in North Carolina with my human brother Derek. Then there’s Penny, a terrier. An Rosco, a shepherd. He was sorta like a Big Brother. Real kind an laid back. He went to Dog Heaven last year.”
Petey sighed.
“Any food favrites?”
“We get Canine Carry-Outs. Duh-li-shus!”
“Oooh, I love those!” Coco piped up from the balcony. “Mom hasta put my meal on the counter so Petey won’t gobble it up.”
“That’s true,” Petey admitted. “But, when Coco’s done, I get to lick the bowl. Mom puts it on the floor for me. It’s kinda a RICH-chew-wull.
“You know,” he reflected, “the older I get, the more I like snugglin’. Go figure.”
“Don’t we all,” I mused.
Headin’ home, I was smilin’, pick-churin’ Petey leapin’ through the snow like a rabbit, an imaginin’ how Super Crispy Biscuits he’d look in his Bomber Jacket.
Till next time,
